


Lullaby

by pH5_4



Series: VIXX weirdfic [1]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Gen, Spiders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 20:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8504953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pH5_4/pseuds/pH5_4
Summary: Be still, be calm, be quiet now my precious boyDon't struggle like that or I will only love you more





	

**Author's Note:**

> Try reading it in a trochaic meter, could be interesting. Also, it has spiders. If you are afraid of spiders, please read this.

Hongbin wakes up. There’s a melody lingering in the back of his mind. Perhaps it’s something he dreamt, or perhaps something he heard when he was a child. He’s in a coffin, but somehow he knows it’s a dream. The sky seems clear tonight, the light from constellations glittering down to where he is in the ground. His arms are folded, morbid mimicry of a body laid to rest, but when he tries to stretch his arms and stand up he finds himself unable to so much as close his eyelids. Still as the dead. Internally panicking, but on the outside he could be a corpse himself. It’s definitely not a dream he’s had before. Hongbin waits for what could be a few seconds or a few hours, he doesn’t really know. Dream time is not real. Dreams are not real. There’s a silhouette above him, spade in hand and eyes flashing in the moonlight. The coffin lid is still open. Dirt falls down on his face, but Hongbin doesn't flinch; he can’t move. More and more piles on, covering his pressed funeral suit and made-up face, more and more as his eyes flicker wildly, staring alone at the glittering moon. The silhouette hums, a haunting melody too faint to make out the tune. Too soon and he’s buried, wrapped up in mud for the insects to visit and gnaw at his flesh ‘til he’s nothing but bones in the dirt. He can’t move, but he lives and he breathes, and the mud fills his nose and the insects writhe through the leaves and the hard six feet of dirt on top of his body. Inside he’s praying for any god that there ever was and that ever will be, in the hope that maybe the dream god might save him and hear his plea. He’s suffocating. Dreams are not real. His head is spinning. Dreams are not real.

He wakes from his nightmare, sheets soaked with sweat, gasping for air that won’t come. It’s more than a panic; he’s suffocating, the lump in his throat a physical thing that restricts his breaths and tightens his windpipe. He claws at his throat, violently coughing as his writhing legs twist in the sheets. It was just a dream, just a dream, he repeats in his head but he can't breathe, can’t breathe, and it’s with a sharp stab of terror he realises that something is moving beneath his eyes, his nose, his fingers, a twisting and pulsing thing inside of his throat, crawling its way out. Hongbin sobs, face pale with shock, takes a finger to his throat, and jerks it down as far as it’ll go. His actions do the trick, and with the sour tang of acid comes a spider, long legs twitching as it lands on the floor with a click. Hongbin barely has time to take it in before violent coughs wrack his body again, tears streaming down his cheeks. He can feel more of them coming up his throat, writhing in his mouth, crawling over his lips and no, this is the real nightmare, it can’t be real. The spiders in the darkness of his bedroom are singing, one voice in a tune that’s there, ringing in the back of his mind.

Hands still at his throat, he falls off the side of the bed, falling and falling past the floor and into the water. The spiders are gone, a horrifying memory branded into his dreams. The shock of cold water wakes Hongbin up from his distress, and distantly he notices the faint clouds of blood coming from the marks he made in his neck. Sharks, his mind warns, but it’s not sharks he’s worried about. The water is a crushing weight on his chest but somehow he has no trouble breathing. It’s too dark to see. He floats, suspended in blackness until something brushes past his leg. He jumps, and it’s gone. A faint movement, brushing past his hair. He flails, panicking, and his foot touches something living. It wraps around his legs, slithering up from the deep and around and around and around, stilling his movements and squeezing his chest and his throat and his head ‘til the pressure’s too much, surely this is the end of him. His eyes are wide, unseeing, and suddenly there’s something in them, the wet slimy alien something in his eyes, feeling around, slithering through his body. Hongbin tries to scream, but there’s a tentacle creeping down his throat and only bubbles make their way out. There are voices in the deep, murmuring a tune that’s becoming familiar to him now.

Rational thought is a faraway dream when the thing has its tentacles wrapped around him in a grip so tight he gasps and fills his lungs with salty water. Hongbin kicks his legs, frantically trying to break free, and his foot meets stone with a loud thump. Awake and wide-eyed he sprints, shaking the last of the seawater from his hair. Before him stands a corridor, the walls of mirrors and floor of stone. Alone he runs, but not alone, behind him flows the dark unknown, a monster grown of smoke and bone that chokes and groans a haunting song. The voice it has is jarring, wrong, the tone a lilting melody as sweet as rotting flesh. Hongbin runs and runs, each step the darkness reaches further, the song a buzzing in his head in time with the rhythm of his panicked footsteps. Around him, the mirrors twist and turn, his reflection staring back. The absolute panic on his face is alien. His muscles tire, his breath coming in short pants, and he can’t breathe properly. A hurried look back tells him the thing is closer, the music louder in his ears.

Distracted, his feet scuff on the cold stone, and Hongbin tips forward, unbalancing, destined for the side of his head to hit Wonshik’s hand as he’s slapped awake.

“Fuck,” Hongbin exclaims, louder than expected, “what was that for?”

He can feel the tears brimming at his eye, dried ones on his cheeks, remnants of the dream. Faintly, he realises he’s shivering.

“Hongbin,” Wonshik says, and his voice quavers. There are tears brimming in his eyes too.

“You weren’t waking up, I got so worried and I shook you and talked to you and threw water on you but nothing worked, you weren’t waking up-”

Wonshik’s voice gets higher as he goes along, a slight edge of hysteria to his words. Hongbin is silent in shock. Behind Wonshik’s panicking, Hongbin’s radio plays music from its tinny speakers. He thinks he recognises the song. Something about Spiderman. Or dinner. He isn’t sure.

“–I was so afraid, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t woken up–”

“Shut up,” Hongbin interrupts harshly. His voice is much stronger than he feels. Wonshik looks heartbroken.

“How do I know,” Hongbin forces out, eyes wide, “how do I know that you’re not just another nightmare, come to torment me?”

“Hongbin, no, I’m me, Wonshik, I’m real, see? See? I’m here.”

Hongbin can see in his expression that he’s panicking. As if to prove his point, Wonshik surges forward in a tight hug, enveloping Hongbin with his body heat in the way Wonshik always has, that makes you feel like you’re suffocating. Hongbin jolts, wriggling away from Wonshik’s touch like he’s been stabbed.

The first song is long over, and now the radio is playing a melody that’s become familiar to Hongbin, that haunting tune of soft whispers and murmurs.

“Not again,” he breathes. He’s not going to run this time, or flail in the dark or keep still as a corpse.

Hongbin lunges, hands going for Wonshik’s neck in one swift movement. It’s not really Wonshik, he tells himself, “dreams aren’t real”, he says aloud. The music roars inside his ears as Wonshik struggles, kicking and trapped and writhing and pinned and pleading, “no, please, Hongbin, don’t do this, please.” The music roars ever louder still, blurring his thoughts and blurring his vision as Hongbin tightens his hands around Wonshik’s neck. Hongbin is gasping from the adrenaline, breath coming in pants as he struggles to tighten his grip more and more.

Desperation is a heavy hand around his throat and he’s suffocating, tears blurring his vision until Wonshik’s face isn’t Wonshik anymore but his own, his own body convulsing underneath him as he dies. Dreams are not real. He can’t breathe.

Hongbin wakes up. There’s a melody lingering in the back of his mind.


End file.
